I blow bubbles into the water, my eyes still swollen from the flu and my whole body feels like a bursting bubble, only my walls are elastic and I cannot die.
Peter puts his head on the edge of the tub and his hands come to my forehead, running his fingers through my hair, lifting up, my eyes close and he pours water on my hair, blood gushing out of my nose, all of it dry now turns into paint and I gasp, opening my eyes, maybe even a third to see nothing at all.
“Pete.” The r is muffled and he doesn’t glare at me, he looks a bit stoned, laughing at the blood and maybe I’ve even not got teeth, I look down at the stitch in my arm as Pete pinches it and we both laugh.
A pub fight is never funny when you’re out of it, but at the moment it was with a bunch of people calling everyone a fag and then I had jumped on Peter all the glass shattering underneath us, leaving the moon under his eye.
The artist lights a cigarette and he dunks his hair under the water and with a gasp I dive in to meet him underneath and kiss.
I keep my head dunked and my eyes closed, the bubbles making a halo within my hair and I open my mouth, letting water go in and I see myself in claustrophobia, as if I’m in a new aisle and people swirl nowhere and just a few choose cookies with smilies drawn on them, an echo of a posh place turned shabby or maybe it’s just a late hour and I wonder where had the money gone and Peter yanks me up, kissing me more hastily, his tongue travelling to my mouth, his hand running down my chest, his body sliding down, Peter’s hand touching my cock and I gasp, my eyes closing as he starts stroking my cock. I lean my head back, letting my body immerse, water nearly going over the edge, as Peter goes in and he sits on top of me.
I look at him, as he exposes his neck and then lets me go inside him.
“Fuck.” It said in between the air.
He starts moving up and down, as I take his cock in my hand, rubbing his tip, pulling it, tugging it, feeling Peter around me, as he pulls me closer crashing my mouth against his. I bite his tongue as he moans.
I get myself deeper in the water, then get my head in, watching him move in ecstasy on the other side and I grasp his hips, helping him thrust, watching him closer until I lift myself and then I change positions, dipping him in, gasping and watching the bubbles form circles in his eyes as I take him out and let my hand play harder with cock.
We both stop, myself deep inside him and he starts rocking his hips against my own and I bite his chin, harder and harder as the thrusts come back and I starts drawing wings with my own fingertips, not with nails, as both of our breathing become more shallow and our eyes are barely open, I reach a peak, Peter still thrusting and his breathing close to screams and I feel warm fluid join the water, both mine and his and we both scream, water rocking out of the tub and we both reach the end.
We gasp both a few more times, thrusting, keeping the feeling bottled up and then I collapse on Peter’s shoulder, biting it before kissing if I had been too rough.
Peter has rings of all his former lovers, I look at them and they were mere coincidences, when things just happen and you bead them into a necklace and then you tattoo them to make wings to just spread them yet never fly.
I start putting the rings on all my fingers, not knowing which ones belong to Amy or Kate or Irina, all seem too women. I light a cigarette, bathing the silver things in smoke. Peter stands in the doorway as I eat fragile smoke, blowing it out slowly, feeling it as if clouds.
My cheek tastes of metal and if I stick a finger inside, my blood starts colouring the rings, shattering the women in his life, contaminating myself in his memories, fucking all the women instead of him, out.
-
The title came from discussing the fact that it's been awful to try and find matching music and I've been writing to the same Lana del Rey songs as everything else is even more depressing, I really don't know what to listen to. Sorry for the long wait, I've been rather ill and stuck on antibiotics and a bunch of everything.
I've been dying to write about Jonny Greenwood, I've tried before and long ago and he's been in my head and it's an interesting pairing really. Jonny's broken feels are me being ill really and the claustrophobia is a phobia I have. I guess it's quite personal as everything is.
I hope you enjoyed it and I hope my health will be better XD
Feel free to request:)
Thank you
<3
Peter puts his head on the edge of the tub and his hands come to my forehead, running his fingers through my hair, lifting up, my eyes close and he pours water on my hair, blood gushing out of my nose, all of it dry now turns into paint and I gasp, opening my eyes, maybe even a third to see nothing at all.
“Pete.” The r is muffled and he doesn’t glare at me, he looks a bit stoned, laughing at the blood and maybe I’ve even not got teeth, I look down at the stitch in my arm as Pete pinches it and we both laugh.
A pub fight is never funny when you’re out of it, but at the moment it was with a bunch of people calling everyone a fag and then I had jumped on Peter all the glass shattering underneath us, leaving the moon under his eye.
The artist lights a cigarette and he dunks his hair under the water and with a gasp I dive in to meet him underneath and kiss.
I keep my head dunked and my eyes closed, the bubbles making a halo within my hair and I open my mouth, letting water go in and I see myself in claustrophobia, as if I’m in a new aisle and people swirl nowhere and just a few choose cookies with smilies drawn on them, an echo of a posh place turned shabby or maybe it’s just a late hour and I wonder where had the money gone and Peter yanks me up, kissing me more hastily, his tongue travelling to my mouth, his hand running down my chest, his body sliding down, Peter’s hand touching my cock and I gasp, my eyes closing as he starts stroking my cock. I lean my head back, letting my body immerse, water nearly going over the edge, as Peter goes in and he sits on top of me.
I look at him, as he exposes his neck and then lets me go inside him.
“Fuck.” It said in between the air.
He starts moving up and down, as I take his cock in my hand, rubbing his tip, pulling it, tugging it, feeling Peter around me, as he pulls me closer crashing my mouth against his. I bite his tongue as he moans.
I get myself deeper in the water, then get my head in, watching him move in ecstasy on the other side and I grasp his hips, helping him thrust, watching him closer until I lift myself and then I change positions, dipping him in, gasping and watching the bubbles form circles in his eyes as I take him out and let my hand play harder with cock.
We both stop, myself deep inside him and he starts rocking his hips against my own and I bite his chin, harder and harder as the thrusts come back and I starts drawing wings with my own fingertips, not with nails, as both of our breathing become more shallow and our eyes are barely open, I reach a peak, Peter still thrusting and his breathing close to screams and I feel warm fluid join the water, both mine and his and we both scream, water rocking out of the tub and we both reach the end.
We gasp both a few more times, thrusting, keeping the feeling bottled up and then I collapse on Peter’s shoulder, biting it before kissing if I had been too rough.
Peter has rings of all his former lovers, I look at them and they were mere coincidences, when things just happen and you bead them into a necklace and then you tattoo them to make wings to just spread them yet never fly.
I start putting the rings on all my fingers, not knowing which ones belong to Amy or Kate or Irina, all seem too women. I light a cigarette, bathing the silver things in smoke. Peter stands in the doorway as I eat fragile smoke, blowing it out slowly, feeling it as if clouds.
My cheek tastes of metal and if I stick a finger inside, my blood starts colouring the rings, shattering the women in his life, contaminating myself in his memories, fucking all the women instead of him, out.
-
The title came from discussing the fact that it's been awful to try and find matching music and I've been writing to the same Lana del Rey songs as everything else is even more depressing, I really don't know what to listen to. Sorry for the long wait, I've been rather ill and stuck on antibiotics and a bunch of everything.
I've been dying to write about Jonny Greenwood, I've tried before and long ago and he's been in my head and it's an interesting pairing really. Jonny's broken feels are me being ill really and the claustrophobia is a phobia I have. I guess it's quite personal as everything is.
I hope you enjoyed it and I hope my health will be better XD
Feel free to request:)
Thank you
<3
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